


Entropy

by Glare



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (Nonconsensual), Abduction, Abuse, Addiction, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bloodplay, Eventual mpreg, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Bonding, Gaslighting, Graphic Description, Have you ever wondered how much garbage content you can fit into one fic?, Knotting, Let's find out:, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape, Scarification, Sith Obi-Wan, Stockholm Syndrome, Underage - Freeform, Underage Rape/Non-con, Watersports, and finally, forgot that one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: Twenty years ago, a failed initiate slipped through the cracks of the Order that raised him and was lost among the chaos of the galaxy.Now, sixteen year-old Padawan Anakin Skywalker finds himself caught in the crossfire between a revenge-driven Sith and his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/gifts), [Kurenaino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaino/gifts).



> Hello my friends and welcome to "Entropy".
> 
> With the aid of my partners in crime, Icsek and Kurenaino, I have decided to take up a career providing only the worst possible content available on the Obikin market today.
> 
> I hope you enjoy our horrible concept.

The sprawling, winding walkways of Coruscant are always busy with early morning foot traffic. The grunts of the city planet pass each other in a steady stream of forgettable faces. Human, Rodian, Twi’Lek, Torgruta. A hundred species from a hundred planets in a hundred systems, remarkable only in how unremarkable they are. Little people rushing to their little jobs in their little lives, unimportant in the vast, cosmic scheme, never to play any role in affecting the way the galaxy spins.

Aestus watches them come and go like ants from their hill, perched atop a balcony that had once belonged to some wealthy businessman. Now, however, the man has been rotting in his own bed for days, filling the apartment with the putrid scent of rot and decay. Aestus would be surprised that no one has noticed the stench, if he did not suspect the building’s wealthy, alpha residents to spend more time in the lower-levels’ omega whorehouses than in their own apartments. The balcony remains untainted by the smell, so long as he keeps the transparisteel pane door closed, and the vantage point allows him a clear view of the people below.

The cigarra that hangs between his lips is a soothing counterpoint to the excitement thrumming through his veins. His Master would think it a filthy habit, if he knew, but their meetings have grown more and more impersonal over the passing years. That is perfectly fine by Aestus, who has little interest in spending more time kneeling at the beta’s feet than necessary, listening to all the reasons Sidious is superior because he lacks a knot and a decent sense of smell. A stupid opinion, if you ask Aestus; Sidious is a loth-cat compared to Aestus’ loth-wolf on the evolutionary scale. Still, there are things he is yet to learn, so listening to the old man’s drivel remains on his schedule for now.

Gaze skipping over the crowd below, he keeps his eyes peeled for a certain someone who has travelled this way at this time for the last several days, now. The thought of it makes his heart skip a beat, giddy with the excitement only a good hunt can bring. And this,  _ oh this _ , is the best of them all. The one he has waited for since he was just a boy, looking up for the first time into the yellowed eyes of the second man he’d call _ Master _ .

There, in the crowd below; he’d recognize that hideous haircut anywhere. Aestus pulls his own long, auburn locks up until a sloppy bun as he watches that haircut push its way through the crowd, a small part of him quite grateful he was never subjected to such an indignity. His own hair had not yet grown long enough to accommodate the small nerf-tail before his brief stint as a Jedi Padawan came to its end. One less humiliation he suffered at the hands of the Jedi, he supposes, and grinds his cig out beneath the heel of his black boot before beginning the descent to street level.

Aestus dare not enter the building for fear of losing his target, but scaling down the balconies is easy with the Force as his ally. He can feel it flowing through him, strengthening his grip, showing him handholds and footholds he might have otherwise missed. No one in the crowd below even bothers to look up—something he loves about the people on this planet. So caught up in themselves that they never take the time to notice what is really important.

He drops down into an alleyway and slips into the crowd from there, following the trail left in the wake of his target’s blinding Force presence. It had been an inconvenience, at first, to hide himself from such a bright Light, but practice has made him a master of slipping through the crowd unnoticed by neither his target nor the other passersby. To them, he is just another little person; they do not know he is going to change their galaxy one day.

The longer he stalks his prey, however, the more apparent it becomes that the Light isn’t the only thing he’s tracking. He can smell it in the air with every pull of his lungs, a subtle sweetness that draws a sharp smirk to his lips. It makes people look twice, suddenly aware of the predator in their midst, but he can’t seem to find the will to smother it. He walks quicker, steps lighter, and watches as the little people look twice at not just himself, but the boy who makes his way through the crowd ahead. The boy who’s scent is like a siren-song to any alpha worth his knot.

The boy whose name is Anakin Skywalker.

There is something like childish delight fluttering in his chest as he watches Skywalker duck into an alleyway shortcut he always takes on the way to his destination. Aestus has already determined this the best place to grab the boy along his route. It’s dark, infrequently travelled, and provides plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in should he decide to do so.

Following Skywalker around the corner, Aestus is surprised to find the front of his tunics snagged in a deceptively strong grip. He’s spun until his back hits the brick building lining the alleyway, looking down into the reddened face of one Padawan Skywalker.

“Who the the hells are you?” the boy snarls. “Any why have you been following me?” 

Ah, it seems he hadn’t been as stealthy as he thought. No matter. The boy gives his tunics a rough jerk, pulling him forward before slamming him back into the brick. It might have hurt, if not for the euphoria he feels at simply being so close to the Skywalker. 

“Don’t play dumb! I could smell you lurking around for days.”

Aestus raises his hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Just a concerned citizen,” he replies. “A pretty little omega like you shouldn’t be walking around this city alone, especially when you smell like you’re going into preheat. Don’t you know these streets are dangerous? Any number of suspicious characters could be waiting around the next bend.”

The boy shoves away from him, releasing his grip on Aestus’s tunics and fixing him with a very un-Jedi sneer. “It’s none of your kriffing business,” he growls. “And besides, I’m a Jedi. They would have to be stupid to try anything with me.”

Oh yes, this Aestus knows. Between the signature haircut, the potato-sack robes, and the lightsaber that dangles from his belt loops, Skywalker is visibly recognizable as a member of the Jedi Order; it is likely the only thing that has deterred the alphas he’s passed on these little trips from doing more than simply letting their gaze linger. That is, of course, another difference between Aestus and the  _ little people _ . While they might find the boy’s garb a clear warning to keep their distance, he has none of those particular hang-ups.

It is why, when Skywalker foolishly turns his back, clearly done with the conversation and intending to continue on his journey, Aestus doesn’t think twice before he pounces.

It’s a bit earlier than he intended to take Skywalker, he considers as he knocks the unsuspecting omega to the ground, but it would be a shame to waste such a golden opportunity when the Force has all but laid it at his feet. Skywalker yelps, startled by the unforeseen assault, and that moment’s hesitation proves Aestus enough time to slam the boy’s skull into the hard duracrete. Horribly messy, really, but the alpha has never had any particular skill at the mind tricks Jedi are often so fond of. Perhaps that’s due to his lack of training; perhaps it’s due to his alpha temperament. Either way, this is substantially easier than trying to bend as stubborn and independent an omega as Skywalker to his will with naught but his mind.

Kneeling atop the unconscious omega and watching the people on the main street pass without so much as a second glance at the commotion in the ally, Aestus cannot help the breathless laugh that escapes him. He’s done it—he’s actually, really done it.  Years of planning and weeks of preparation and finally,  _ finally  _ Skywalker lays prone and still beneath him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only sign that the boy even still lives.

Aestus sucks in a deep breath, trying to center himself, and registers anew the sweetness of heat-scent. Not only does he have Skywalker, but he has him like this: soft and vulnerable. Skywalker can be no more than sixteen, if he’s done his math right, his body virgin and ripe for the first and last time. The alpha can almost taste the omega’s slick on his tongue, lidding his eyes as he leans over to nip at the scent glands on the boy’s neck. “What was he thinking,” Aestus murmurs, “letting you out of the Temple like this?”

Anakin, predictably, does not respond, but that suits Aestus just fine. The alpha doesn’t particularly care what it is that’s dragged the boy from the safety of the Jedi Temple on the verge of such a monumental change; he is simply delighted to be able to take advantage. This is better than anything he could have ever hoped for--a weakness he never thought he would get to exploit.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he tells boy as he slides off him, getting his feet under him before hauling the omega over his shoulder. No one stops him when he steps back out into foot traffic, their eyes downcast as they scurry along. Don’t get involved, they know, born from instinct or common sense. Don’t look too close; there’s nothing to see. See nothing, say nothing,  _ be _ nothing, and everything will be ok.

_ Stars, how Aestus loves this city. _

* * *

 

The return to his temporary base of operations is a relatively uneventful thing. They wind their way down into the underbelly of the city-planet, Aestus adjusting his grip on the unconscious omega as needed. The boy’s heat-scent is getting stronger with every passing moment, drawing more attention to them than the alpha would prefer: alpha whose eyes linger just a moment too long and omega who stare at the boy on his shoulder with pity. Still, no one is foolish enough to get in his way--to challenge him for the right to Skywalker’s heat. The soft, vanilla scent is almost maddening.

Aestus’ hands are shaking by the time they reach the motel he’s holed up in, and he fumbles the door code three times before he finally manages to hit the correct combination. Excitement and arousal are coiled in his gut, turning his steps unsteady as he stumbles across the room to dump Skywalker on the bed. There is a part of him that still can’t quite believe this is happening--that the Force would favor him with this gift.

As soon as Aestus drops the omega onto the mattress, the spring squealing in protest of the rough treatment, he stuffs a hand in his pocket and fishes out his pack of cigarras. It wouldn’t do to ruin this moment with haste, but he can feel the Dark Side nipping at his heel, egging him on, and the rut that’s slowly burning its way through his veins. He needs something to take the edge off, if he’s going to make it long enough for Skywalker to come around. He holds the cig between his lips as he bustles around the room, preparing everything he’ll need and relishing in the artificial calm the narcotic brings.

First things first, Skywalker is still entirely too well dressed for the plans Aestus has for his future. Kneeling on the bed, the alpha sets to work in stripping him bare, tossing the omega’s Jedi tunics carelessly aside. He’d once held that uniform in the highest esteem, but now it is only a barrier between himself and what he wants.

Aestus can feel his mouth watering with every new strip of skin he bares, more of the boy’s intoxicating scent filling the room as his body is exposed to the open air. He trails hands along the omega’s torso, mapping the pattern of his ribs and the scars that litter his skin. While Skywalker likely hasn’t seen true combat, Jedi do not live an entirely peaceful life. There is evidence of injury, either from scuffles on missions or training accidents, on nearly every part of his body. Muscle twitches beneath Aestus’ palms as he works, undoubtedly strong for all its leanness, and the gentle pressure he uses turns the omega lax and pliant against the sheets.

It makes it easy to pull Skywalker to his knees, a hand on his hip balancing the boy as the other tugs down on the waistband of his pants. Aestus doesn’t bother to drag them all the way off, instead leaving Skywalker’s pants and underthings tangled around his legs. Slick is already leaking from the boy’s hole and dripping down the inside of his thighs, the presence of an alpha in the early stages of rut speeding his heat along. In the low light, it has a kind of soft sheen, and the alpha is helpless but to trail his fingers through it, following the trail up to his cheeks. He pushes them apart, head cocked slightly as he examines the boy’s rosy hole. Heat has loosened his entrance slightly, and Aestus is met with only minimal resistance when he reaches out and presses a finger inside.

The feeling of the boy’s sheath clenching reflexively around him is enough to draw a gasp from his lips and is doing nothing at all to aid in the erection that’s straining the front of his pants. He can imagine the way it will feel around his knot as he pumps the digit slowly in and out of the omega, watching his rim stretch around the width of his knuckles with a satisfied grin. Of course, he isn’t the only one who reacts, the intrusion drawing a whimper from Skywalker and undoubtedly aiding in ushering the boy back to consciousness. Aestus is quick to pull out, cursing his distraction, and fumbles to finish what he’d begin.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, he summons his pack from its place by the door and roots around inside until he finds what he wants: a pair of binders, a coil of rope, and Force-inhibiting collar. He’s had quite a bit of fun with this combination over the years, a faint smile gracing his lips at the fond memories while he snaps the collar around Skywalker’s throat. The Jedi guests he entertained were perhaps not as thrilled, but that is entirely beside the point.

Skywalkers wrists are pulled behind his back, the binders snapped close around them to keep them there before he moves on to the boy’s legs. The length of rope and few carefully placed knots will keep the omega in a kneeling position, perfect to be mounted and fucked to Aestus’ heart’s content. Just in time, it seems, as the boy is starting to twitch, slowly dragging himself from grip of unconsciousness and back to the waking world. He slides off the bed to snub his cig out in an ashtray on the desk, watching from there as the omega comes around.

Skywalker comes awake with a low groan, eyes scrunched and head lolling at the pain he is undoubtedly experiencing. There is blood matted in his hair where his skull had stuck duracrete, a dark patch that stands in sharp contrast to the soft gold of the rest. Aestus’ heartbeat skips when the boy makes to draw a hand up and prod at the wound, the binders holding his wrists bringing that movement to a swift end.

The omega’s eyes fly open, and there is recognition through the panic in their deep blue when the boy’s gaze flickers to Aestus. His nostrils flare with the increased rate of his breathing, fear-scent mingling with the heat and cig smoke in the air. The alpha tips his head back and groans, a lazy smirk curling his lips as he revels in the feeling of it all. In the wickedness of the Dark, in the rut washing over him, in the frantic pounding of his own heart. Aestus can’t remember the last time he felt this good—the last time he experienced such profound satisfaction.

Never, probably, he thinks as he returns his gaze to Skywallker. He has anticipated little more in his life than he has anticipated this moment. The omega is still struggling against his bindings, but the ropes keep him where Aestus wants him: face-down and kneeling, his ass on full display—the perfect position to be fucked and knotted and bred until the alpha has had his fill. He palms at his aching cock through the fabric of his pants, sending yet more thanks to the Force for this blessing. For letting Skywalker wander beyond the safety of the Temple’s walls on the verge of his very first heat.

It seems Jinn has learned nothing from his previous failures as a teacher, still putting himself above the needs of his students. Where is he now, Aestus wonders as he begins the process of stripping out of his clothing. Is he even looking for the boy? Even concerned his student is going into heat? He hopes so. He hopes Jinn is frantic, turning the city upside down in his search for this ripe little omega. It will make dumping Skywalker on the Temple’s front steps, broken and beaten and used, all the sweeter.

“I tried to warn you, boy,” Aestus purrs when he climbs atop the bed, his proximity instigating Skywalker into struggling anew. The alpha sinks fingers into his hair and yanks, forcing his spine into an unnatural bend, and puts a stop to that behavior with a hard strike across the boy’s face. Skywalker’s pained yelp makes his breath catch; surely there is no sweeter tune in the galaxy. “There is danger around every bend for a pretty thing like you.”

He catches the omega’s chin when he releases his hair, turning his face up and admiring the handprint he’s left on the boy’s skin, the tears that stream from glassy blue eyes, the way plump, pink lips work around questions Skywalker can’t ask.  _ Who? Why?  _ In the end, what does it matter? He will be used like this anyways, taken and broken. What will change for knowing its cause?

“Look at you,” Aestus sighs, turning the omega’s face this way and that in a mockery of investigation. “Anakin Skywalker: Qui-Gon Jinn’s little pet project. A slave boy risen above his station…” He lets go, allowing the boy no time to recover before the alpha shoves his face into the sheets. “I think it well beyond time someone put you back in your place.”

He moves behind Skywalker, taking firm hold of the boy’s hips and rutting against his ass, coating his aching cock in the omega’s slick. More for his benefit than Skywalker’s, of course. Preparation takes patience Aestus doesn’t have, and he would rather not rub his dick raw when he fucks his little bitch into the mattress. This is about his pleasure, after all—about settling a score two decades in the making.

Aestus chuckle as he drapes himself over the boy’s back, feeling how rigidly he holds himself while the alpha lines up with his entrance. “Fighting will only make it hurt worse,” he purrs into Skywalker’s ear, nipping teasingly at its shell. “I can’t wait to hear you scream.”

Forcing the head of his cock past the first ring of muscle, Aestus gets his wish. Skywalker shrieks—a noise that would certainly bring unwanted attention were it not for the unscrupulous reputation of this particular motel—and it is only Aestus’ tight grip on the boy that keeps him from pulling away from the intrusion. He’s big, he knows, even by most alpha standards, and the omega has likely never taken anything wider than the finger Aestus pressed into him earlier. The heat has loosened him naturally, but there is only so much it can do.

The sheer  _ sensation  _ of pushing in is almost too much for him to bear. The omega is slick and hot and so, so tight, drawing a ragged moan from Aestus when he’s fully seated, balls pressed to the boy’s supple ass. Skywalker may be sobbing from the pain and the violation, hands clawing violently at air in the grip of the binders, but his sheath clenches instinctually around Aestus’ length. It knows what it needs: an alpha cock— _ his _ cock, Aestus thinks smugly—stretching him open and knotting him and filling him with cum. He’s more than happy to oblige.

The omega yelps and cries when Aestus fucks into him, still trying to find a way out from under him even as the alpha sets a brutal pace. He keeps his grip tight and doesn’t cede to the Skywalker’s whining, the thrill he gets at forcing the boy into submission just adding another heady level of pleasure. He is the alpha here; his wishes are the only ones that matter.

As the full brunt of his heat washes over him, Skywalker seems to come to accept that. Tears still leak from the corners of his eyes, but they’re half-lidded now as he goes loose and pliant in Aestus’ grip. His pitched, frightened whimpers shift to low, pleasured moans and he begins to push back into the alpha’s rough thrusts, forcing his cock deeper into his tight sheath. A knife-sharp smiles curls Aestus’ lips as he releases his grip on one of the Skywalker’s hips in favor of stroking a possessive hand down his side.

“That’s it, bitch,” he murmurs, tone low and lust-drunk. “Taking my cock so well…”

The plan was supposed to be simple: to break this beautiful boy and return him to the Jedi Order in pieces. To watch Qui-Gon Jinn struggle and ultimately fail to put him back together again. Now, though, with the boy’s sheath clenching around him and his knot beginning to catch on the rim, he’s beginning to second-guess that plan. That ugly, dark thing that lurks in the back of his mind is hissing that Jinn doesn’t deserve the boy back—that he should have kept a better eye out instead of wasting this little omega’s potential.

And really, while it would be fun to watch Jinn try to repair his broken student, why should he even bother giving him the chance? Wouldn’t it be all the more entertaining to watch him struggle in the aftermath of Skywalker’s disappearance, wondering where the boy has gone for all that he didn’t in Aestus’ youth? Surely it would be better to simply keep him here, watching Jinn flail and reveling in the satisfaction of having Skywalker on his knot.

The thought drives him to reach out, grabbing hold of Skywalker’s chin and turning the boy’s head until he can see his face. “Look at me,” he growls, and waits for Skywalker’s bloodshot, pleasure-hazed blue to meet his own molten red and gold. “You are  _ mine  _ now, understand?”

The boy nods dazedly, but that isn’t enough. Not for the thing inside Aestus that’s demanding acknowledgement of his claim.

“I want to hear you  _ say it _ .”

“I’m yours,” slips past Skywalker’s lips, soft and small.

“I’m yours,  _ Master _ ,” Aestus corrects.

“I’m yours, Master,” Skywalker echoes, and it sends a visceral thrill up the alpha’s spine. “Only yours. Please—”

Aestus doesn’t bother waiting for Skywalker to finish his request, releasing the boy’s chin and taking hold of his hips again. The force behind Aestus thrusts is enough to push the omega up the mattress, breathless  _ Ah! _ ’s and  _ Oh! _ ’s slipping from Skywalker’s lips with every one. Each is more difficult than the one before it, his knot swelling quickly as he nears completion. The omega helps this process along when he pushes himself back onto the alpha’s cock.

“Master,” Skywalker chants, “Master, please, I need— _ Ah! _ ”

With a low growl, Aestus shoves his knot all the way past the boy’s rim, locking himself inside the omega as the heady wave of orgasm crashes down around him. He isn’t even aware of leaning forward, of sinking his teeth into Skywalker’s neck, until he tastes blood on his tongue and feels the omega spasm beneath him. The boy’s little cock spurts onto the sheets, his sheath squeezing tight around Aestus’ knot and milking him for more of his seed.

“Good boy,” the alpha praises when he releases his grip on Skywalker’s throat. “Such a good boy.”

Aestus collapses atop the omega, and as he lips blood off his lips and considers the trembling form beneath him, he can’t help but wonder what Qui-Gon would think, if he saw what he’d become.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween kids!  
> More garbage!

"I am telling you, something is wrong," Jinn snarls, pacing the circumference of the Council Chamber in quick, agitated strides. He does not look at the Councilors, instead staring out the panoramic windows as though they will offer him better guidance than the seasoned guidance than the Jedi Order’s revered spiritual leaders. As though he will spot his student among the distant crowds if only he looks hard enough.

"Padawan Skywalker has disappeared before, Qui-Gon," Windu sighs. "He always turns back up. What makes you think this time is any different?”

"He hasn't contacted me," Qui-Gon replies, receiving only a raised brow from the other Councilor in return. Anakin has gone dark for longer than this, only to return safe and sound. A single day is hardly anything to scoff at, really. Qui-Gon once had to pull the boy from a three-day racing binge in the lower levels following a series of difficult exams in his studies. Anakin had claimed it to be the only method of destressing he found effective.

The true answer is on the tip of Qui-Gon's tongue, but he struggles to get it off. Struggles to admit what he'd sworn to keep secret; struggles to confess that he'd broken rules even he should have known better than to test. But the Council will never direct any real resources into finding the boy if they believe he’s only snuck off to get into trouble once again. They will trust in his street smarts to return him to the temple relatively unharmed and not particularly guilty about his actions. "I believe Anakin was... going into heat, when he left." Qui-Gon finally forces himself to admit.

THAT gets the Council's attention, all heads swiveling to stare with sudden interest. "Padawan Skywalker’s blood testing upon arriving at the Temple identified him as a beta," Windu says slowly. "Are you telling the Council that was incorrect?”

Qui-Gon shakes his head sadly, still staring out through the transparisteel. “The original tests confirmed him to be omega,” he confesses. “I falsified the data, and recorded him as a beta in his medical file.”

“And what good did you think would come of this deception!?”

“If this Council had known Skywalker was omega, they would have never accepted my bid to train him,” Qui-Gon snarls, rounding from the windows and stalking back to the center of the room. “You would have deemed him too emotional, too much of a risk, and sent him back to his mother on that accursed dustbowl! And if you hadn’t, you would have treated his gender like a handicap; he would not be half the Jedi he is today if you’d known!”

“And what did you plan to do, Qui-Gon, when the boy began to have heats? Pump him full of black-market suppressants and hope they never failed? Whore him out to whatever alpha would tak me him for a few nights? See him through those heats yourself?”

“Stars, no!” Jinn hisses vehemently. “No! I don’t—I don’t know, Mace. I don’t know what I intended to do, but now it doesn’t matter because he is missing and we are wasting time arguing my mistakes instead of trying to find him!”

The Councilor sighs, scrubbing a hand over his furrowed brow. “Do you have any ideas where Skywalker might have gone to?”

“I know he has been visiting Padme Amidala recently. However, she has already confirmed that he never arrived at her apartments."

"Padme Amidala, the senator?"

"She's an alpha, and Anakin's dear friend. I suspect they had agreed to spend his heats together so that they wouldn't cause him so much pain."

"Discussed with the Council, this matter should have been," Yoda grimly interjects.

Qui-Gon is feeling enough guilt to duck his head with shame at the Grandmaster's retribution. He knows it should have, but he had wanted what was best for his student. Anakin needed to remain a Jedi, but he would not be able to resist the call of heat the way those raised in the Temple might. Better that he be with someone safe, someone trusted—

A sharp rap at the chamber door announces the arrival of a new party. All eyes are drawn to the grand doors as they swing open, revealing a harried-looking padawan with a small package in his hands.

"What is the meaning of this interruption, padawan?" Windu snaps, fiercer than perhaps intended, but it has been a long meeting already.

"I'm sorry, Master," the boy mumbles. "We just received this parcel for Master Jinn. The courier said it was urgent."

The alpha stalks across the room, snatching the small parcel from the boy's hands before dismissing him with a wave. He dumps its contents into his palm as the door closes once more: a bloodstained swatch of fabric and an unmarked data chip. The Council is looking at him expectantly when he meets their eyes, and does not have to be asked before making his way over to the room's holoprojector. Inserting the datachip, he waits for the holo to load.

The audio starts before the video, unmistakable panting and keening echoing through the Council Chamber before the holoprojector springs to life. The video reveals a sliver of a dimly lit room: just the distant walls, the floor, drawn curtains, and half of a bed. Shot from the other side of the mattress, the Council is treated to an image of someone's bared back, chest rising and falling as they try to catch their breath. There is something familiar about the unruly wave of the subject's hair, the span of his shoulders, the pattern of birthmarks upon his skin. It's not something Qui-Gon has actively studied, but he has seen his student topless enough times to recognize them.

"Good evening, Master Jedi," a sultry voice purrs, accent bearing a high coruscant crispness.

A hand reaches out, tangling in the subject's hair and forcing his head to the side so that the camera may see his face. One of the boy's eyes is blackened, the other half-lidded with the haze of heat, but it is, unmistakably, that of Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker whimpers in fear, a soft noise that sets Jinn's teeth on edge, and attempts to turn his face away once again. “No, no, baby,” the cameraman murmurs, clearly intended to Skywalker and not the audience, “look at the camera.”

The boy does, but there’s a visible, humiliated flush to his unbruised skin. Qui-Gon recognizes the wobble to his lower lip, the way his eyes dart to the side.

Apparently satisfied, the camera man continues, "I'm sure by now you've realized that your wayward student did not make it to his destination.

"This isn't a ransom; there will be no demands. I just thought you'd like to know that your boy is in good hands, now." The camera pans down the length of Anakin's body, across shallow cuts and dark bruising, to a shot of his ass pressed back into sharply angled hips. Qui-Gon can guess what is happening before the hand previously in Anakin's hair grabs hold of his ass and spreads his cheeks, allowing the camera a view of the boy's stretched, reddened hole and the knot unmistakable buried inside it. "Don't worry, I'm taking very good care of him."

The video cuts out with the briefest flash of a vibroknife and the sound of the camera man's harsh, biting laughter drowned out by Anakin's screams.

The Council Chamber plunged suddenly into silence, Qui-Gon can do nothing but stare helplessly at the spot where the holo had played. His mind is a storm, disbelief, horror, and rage wiping all rational thought. At some point in the video, his nails had bitten into the flesh of his palm; the drip-drop of his blood pattering to the floor the only sound to be heard for a long moment.

When he does finally tear his eyes away, he finds the rest of the Council looking just as a helpless as he feels. What in the name of the force is going on?

* * *

  
“Anakin,” a low voice drawls, rousing the omega from the doze he’d managed to fall into between the latest bouts of fucking. Fingers brush lightly along his jaw, applying gentle pressure to the bruises that mottle his skin. Yellows, greens, purples, and blues; nearly healed and still-fresh and every stage between. It hurts, but not enough to make him open tired eyes. Only halfway through his heat, and he’s this exhausted; Anakin isn’t sure how he’s going to last through the rest. “Wake up, Skywalker,” the voice says, the grip on his jaw getting just a little tighter. Anakin whines unhappily, but the additional pressure on the bruises and the feeling of something pressed to his lips forces him to open his eyes at last.

Above him hovers his new Master—his new mate—the alpha who goes by the name of Aestus. Anakin had managed to pry that much out of him during one of their earlier breaks, though not without a fair bit of grumbling from the alpha. Considering the man has apparently decided they’re destined to spend the rest of their lives together, he has not been particularly interested in sharing much about himself. Even getting a name had taken far more effort than it should have.

Aestus stares down at Anakin now, his eyes tainted yellow by the Dark Side powers that flow through him. His auburn hair falls down to his shoulders, in a disarray he hasn’t bothered to try and tame over the course of their time together, and his beard is looking worse for wear after a day and a half without a shower, matted in places with things not discussed in polite company. In his hand, pressed to Anakin’s lips, is a piece of some form of nutrition bar, similar to the ones supplied by the Order whenever he and Qui-Gon had left the Temple on assignment. They’re bland, calorie-packed, and even the smell of it now is enough to turn his already sensitive stomach.

“Skywalker,” Aestus warns when Anakin tries to turn his head away, attempting to bat his hand away and refuse his offer, “eat it. It won’t do me any good if you die before I have a chance to get some use out of you.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Anakin bites down on the sharp retort that Aestus has gotten plenty of use from him already. That would only make the alpha angry. As it is, his continued refusal earns him an unhappy growl, Aestus pulling his head back around and pressing the food harder against his lips. “Eat,” he rumbles. “You know what happens when you disobey.”

He does—he does know. His back still aches, the bacta patches wrapped sloppily around his back and chest to stop the bleeding rubbing with his every movement. He can still feel the edge of the vibroblade cutting into his skin, and he’s not prepared to feel it again. If it means saving himself from that agony, he will capitulare to this request.

Grudgingly, Anakin opens his mouth, allowing Aestus to press the piece past his lips. It feels and tastes like sandpaper on his tongue, but Anakin suspects that has more to do with his situation than with the product itself. Aestus doesn’t completely let go of his jaw, but allows him some freedom to chew unhindered, feeling the way his muscles work beneath his skin. There is another piece, after he’s swallowed the first, and another after that, and more until he’s finished the bar.

By then, he can feel the stirring of heat once more, and isn’t entirely surprised to watch Aestus’ pupils dilate, black swallowing the gold of his eyes. The alpha trails his fingers across Anakin’s lips briefly before pushing past, pressing them into the wet cavern of the omega’s mouth. Anakin gives him what he wants, curling a hand around the alpha’s wrist and licking and sucking the crumbs from his fingertips, bobbing his head to take them deeper in imitation of other, more obscene acts. Aestus’ breath hitches, and the alpha abruptly pulls away.  
  
Only long enough to snatch his pack of cigarras from the bedside table, Aestus’ shaking hands fumbling to light the cig he sticks between his teeth. Anakin has watched him smoke a pack and a half since he first woke, sometimes during sex and sometimes in the breaks between. The air around them is stale with their scent. While the smell brings Anakin back to Tatooine’s planes, to the clients who came by Watto’s shop and offered coin for obscene things the Toydarian always turned down, the knot of fear in his chest unravels slightly as the man sucks down its smoke. The drugs always take the edge off, sparing Anakin the worst of his aggression and the pain that comes with it.

As such, he doesn’t struggle when the alpha takes him by the hair, dragging him up onto the bed after him; struggle will only rile him back up again. Aestus settles against the headboard, pulling Anakin back into his lap. His cock is rapidly swelling in response to the omega’s heat scent, already nearly erect when Anakin gets himself settled comfortably, his back to Aestus’ chest. The alpha’s hands settled on his waist, rubbing absently at his hip bones as he finishes his cig. The heat of it washes over Anakin’s shoulder and neck, but he doesn’t pull away.

Anakin can feel fresh slick as it drips from his abused hole and down the inside of his thighs, mixing with the fluids left from their previous rounds. He’s loose and wet and the head of the alpha’s cock teases at his opening. "Please," he whimpers when Aestus’ grip changes from simply holding to pressing, working Anakin down onto his stiff cock, and is unsure what he's begging for. For it to stop, the sith getting on with whatever he plans to do once Anakin has served his purpose, or for it to continue. For his alpha to knot him and fill him and make this aching emptiness inside go away.

The alpha decides for him, guiding Anakin up on his knees and back down again to ride the length of his thick cock. The rhythm of this round is slower than the ones that came before it, the fluids leaking from him providing an extra layer of lubrication and making the slide in and out of Anakin's hole something close to tolerable. Pleasant, even, if he focuses on the sensation alone instead of the situation. Aestus meets Anakin’s downward thrusts with a roll of his own hips, driving himself as deep into the omega’s body as he can get.

"Oh—!" Anakin gasps, back arching away from the alpha's grip when the head of his cock brushes against something that sends electricity up Anakin’s spine.

With a low chuckle, the alpha's grip on him tightens, holding Anakin in place against his chest as he repeats the motion. Anakin is helpless to stop the ragged moan that escapes him, the pleasure curling his toes and blurring his vision as the alpha continues to rock into him. He doesn't recall reaching back, tangling his fingers in the Alpha's hair as to pull him closer, but the fine strands are between his fingers and the man is pressed heavily against him. "Ah! Ah!"

"That's right, little one," he purrs in Anakin's ear, the scent of the cig on his breath strong as he drives himself into the willing body. "Let me hear how much you love taking my cock."

Once it starts, Anakin can't seem to stop it. A litany of harsh gasps, ragged moans; Oh Master's and Please's falling freely from his lips as the alpha works him toward completion. "Please, Master," he finds himself begging. "Please, I need—"

He fumbles over the words, unsure of how to ask for what he wants.

Fortunately, the alpha already knows. "What do you need?" He asks, relentless in his pace. "Do you need my knot, little one? Need it stretching you open? Do you need me to fill you up with my cum?"

"Please," Anakin gasps. "Please, please, please. Master, please—"

The yelp that escapes him when the alpha drags him back into his thrust, knot locking into place inside him, quickly turns to a lewd moan when he feels the alpha's cock pulse. When he feels hot seed filling him up.

Alpha are know for both quality and quantity; this one is no different. Anakin can scent his strength is the air, his virility proclaimed with all the subtlety of a siren. Anakin could be carrying his pups already, and the thought of being round and swollen—so thoroughly bred—is enough to push him over the edge.

The alpha is praising him, he recognizes distantly, petting his hair and his face and his sides. He takes the cig from his mouth to press sloppy kisses to the skin of his neck and shoulders and nipping at the still-healing bond mark on his throat. Anakin is surprised when the alpha lets him slip the cig from his grip, bringing it to his own lips and sucking a deep drag from the last of the stick. While they’ve never had anything been close to a habit, it would be a lie to say he hasn’t had the occasional few down on the lower levels on racing nights.

Anakin's stomach and rear are sticky, the sheets wet with blood and the evidence of their foray, but exhaustion has begun to set into his bones. Sleeps tugs at the edges of him mind and he only just manages to pass the cig’s stub back to his alpha before he drifts off into unconsciousness against the man’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know this fic hit 1k views after only 5 days?  
> Considering I wrote it for the express purpose of seeing what kind of hate mail people would send me, I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed.
> 
> I love you all for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herp derp here we are almost a year later as usual because Glare useless.

Anakin had often imagined the morning after his first heat. In is mind, if was warm, softly lit by the sunlight filtering in through the thin curtains of Padme’s apartment. The two of them laying curled up in her bed together, laughing quietly about the events of the past days and the new intimacy they’ve found in their wake. One of them makes breakfast, or maybe they make it together, and talk about the things that have happened since they last saw each other, the things they have planned for the future, before they must inevitably part ways. In his mind, it’s always a peaceful, comfortable thing. The natural progression of a relationship that seemed always meant to be, from the moment they locked eyes across the counter of Watto’s shop.

Instead, Anakin finds himself perched on the center of a thin motel mattress, its ratty sheet draped over his shoulders like a worn and battered cape. A king surveying his derelict and bug-infested kingdom, from its faded curtains to the questionably stained carpet. His sole subject: his new mate, the alpha named Aestus, who stands at the bedside, smoking his second cigarra of the morning and watching Anakin through narrowed eyes. He has at least had the decency to put on a pair of pants, if nothing else, leaving bared a scarred chest dusted with ginger hair.

Around them, the room is unsettlingly quiet. This far down in the city-planet’s underbelly, even the roar of the sky traffic is muted to a low hum. Aestus hasn’t spoken a word since they woke, a sharp contrast to the unending chatter during Anakin’s heat. He doesn’t like not knowing what Aestus is thinking. His moods are too unpredictable to be trusted, with violence always lurking below the surface of whatever calm exterior the alpha has put on. Even in the breaks within the heat, when Aestus had fed him and washed him and tended to his injuries, there was always a lingering threat in his touch.

If Anakin were able to touch the Force, he could read Aestus that way. He has always had a talent for others’ emotions. It is a natural gift, brought on by his strength in the Force and aided by his underlying omega nature. Qui-Gon said it makes him more intuitive toward others, as omegas are more nurturing than their alpha or beta counterparts. Anakin has never considered himself particularly so, but with the Force suppression collar still clamped around his neck and his abilities muted with it, he can’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a grain of truth to what his Master said. 

“What’s up with your eyes?” He finally asks, breaking the oppressive quiet with a question that has lingered in the back of his mind since coming to his senses. He can’t take their silent stand-off a moment longer. He would prefer the violence to this endless anticipation.

“I’m sorry?” Aestus asks, snubbing his cig out into an ashtray before returning his attention to the omega. The strange, corrupted yellow is his irises is just as unsettling as it was the first time Anakin noticed it. Sometimes he thinks he sees a tinge of red, creeping in from around the pupil, but it never lasts long. By the time he blinks, it’s gone again, and he’s left wondering anew if he’d imagined it all along.

“Your eyes. I’ve never seen a human with a color like that. Are you some sort of hybrid?”

“No.”

Anakin frowns, tugging the sheet over his shoulders closer, when it becomes apparent that Aestus does not intend to elaborate on his unsatisfying answer. It’s back to the same tight-lipped secrecy from the beginning of the heat, when Anakin had to work for something as simple as his captor’s name. While there is no Jedi coursework on how to handle abduction, his history as a slave has served him in this respect. Better to learn something about his new Master, try to humanize himself, lest he be seen as little more than livestock. Livestock are disposable, and easy to replace. “Are you sick, then? Am I going to catch it?”

“No, Anakin, I’m not sick either,” the alpha replies. He opens his mouth, as if to say more, before catching himself. His gaze flicks over Anakin consideringly, before he announces, “I am Sith.”

Anakin’s own eyes narrow, considering that pronouncement for a long moment. It certainly wasn’t what he expected to hear, considering everything he’d been taught about the history of the Jedi and the Sith. It does not scare him nearly as much as Aestus seems to think it will.  “Master Yoda says the Sith are extinct,” he finally declares.

Aestus sighs, rolling his eyes and turning away from Anakin to pick up a small pamphlet from the nightstand. “Well, Master Yoda is wrong. The Sith still exist, and they’re ordering us breakfast. Do you have any allergies I need to worry about?”

“No,” Anakin replies, and flops back onto the mattress while Aestus calls down to the front desk via the in-wall com unit. The cuts on his back still sting, but less so than they have in previous days. Aestus is, admittedly, taking fairly decent care of them. Anakin still has no idea what the man carved into him, but the vibroknife has stayed tucked away into the drawer of the nightstand since Aestus put it away after that encounter. It is one small relief in the discomfort of his current situation. A reminder that things could be worse

“Surprised a shitty place like this even serves food…” he mutters, closing his eyes and picking absently at a loose thread in the sheet. He’s been to upscale hotels before with his Master on assignments, for secret meetings with Padme, and for appointments with Chancellor Palpatine. Those are the kinds of places he expects room service. Rich food, delicious drinks. The Chancellor had even allowed him to try wine, at one of their meetings. He hadn’t cared much for the astringent taste, but it had left him feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was their secret, of course. He’s sure Qui-Gon would be angry if he ever found out Anakin was drinking, even with someone as respectable as Palpatine. 

When he opens his eyes again, Aestus is towering over him in a way that might be intimidating, if he could bring himself to care. Instead Anakin simply frowns up at the alpha, who frowns back down at him. Aestus is a large man, at least two or three inches taller than Anakin, powerfully built, and covered in scars. He’d taken the opportunity to at least scrub his face and beard, earlier in the morning, and his long, auburn hair is thrown up into a messy bun. In a way, he almost seems to have walked out of some young omega’s  _ ideal alpha  _ fantasy. Strong, ruggedly handsome, and as Anakin can attest to, generously endowed. All he’s missing is the personality, the omega thinks bitterly. Anakin can also attest to the his temperament, covered as he is in bites and bruises shaped like Aestus’ hands. Cruel, possessive, selfish. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong about that whole Sith thing.

“Front desk says it’ll be at least an hour before the delivery gets here,” Aestus announces, offering a hand as though to help Anakin up. “We can at least make use of the time to clean up.”

The omega glares at him, bats away the offending hand, and promptly rolls over to face the opposite side of the room. While he can not yet bring himself to get worked up over his current situation, a result of the bonding hormones dumped into his bloodstream during heat, he does not have to blindly follow Aestus’ commands. Anakin can remain perfectly calm and still make life miserable for everyone. He’s been doing it to the Jedi Council for years.

“Anakin…”

It is a warning. An exhausted one, days of rigorous sex having taken their toll on Aestus as well, but a warning nonetheless. Anakin heeds it by curling in on himself and once again refusing to budge. He pulls the sheet over his head, cocooning himself in the albeit smelly fabric, and absently wonders is Aestus is like the predators he’d once read about that lose interest and move on if their prey refuses to play along.

This is not the case, and Anakin lets out an unseemly squawk when he is lifted, sheet and all, clean off the bed and into the alpha’s arms. Having wrapped himself up, he can’t quite struggle the way he’d like, but thrashing around is still an acceptable form of protest. Aestus’ grip on him is firm, but after a moment of wiggling, his cheek brushes against a patch of the alpha’s exposed skin.

Anakin promptly turns his head, and bites down.

In the next moment, he hits the ground, Aestus dropping like a stone and taking Anakin down with him to the cool tile of the bathroom floor. He’s dazed by the fall, making disentangling himself from the sheet more difficult than it should be, and Anakin licks blood from his lips as he sits up at the alpha’s side to peer down at the mess he’s made.

Aestus groans, dabbing gingerly at the hollow of his throat with a shaking hand. When he pulls it away, there is blood on his fingertips, sliding down onto his palm and dripping to the sheet sprawled across his chest. Carved into the alpha’s skin is a perfect imprint of Anakin’s teeth, undoubtedly cut down into bonding gland that resides beneath. “You little bitch,” he slurs, but there’s no real heat behind the sharp words. “What the fuck did you do?”

Anakin doesn’t have an answer for him. It hadn’t been intentional; he hadn’t known what he was biting. But apparently, through fortune good or bad, he seems to have punctured the alpha’s bonding gland. Anakin can feel it in the back of his mind, even without his grasp of the Force: the bond between them solidifying into something real. Aestus had been careful through the duration of the heat not to allow Anakin to bite him. So long as he didn’t, the odds would be forever be skewed in his favor, Anakin bound by his every word. But now he’s leveled the playing field, however inadvertently.

He only hopes it isn’t going to backfire, as soon as Aestus comes to his senses.

“Are you ok?” He asks, for lack of anything else to say. They had taken a good tumble, with the brunt of the impact falling on Aestus. Then again, Anakin has been in the alpha’s shoes; he is intimately aware of the chemical high rushing through his blood from the broken gland. Even if he is injured, it’s unlikely he can feel it anyways.

“What do you think?” Aestus rasps, rolling over onto his side, then pushing himself to his hands and knees.  “ _ Hells _ , you little brat…”

Anakin shifts forward, reaching out, but the glower Aestus fixes him with makes him think twice. Instead he remains kneeling on the cool tile of the floor while Aestus rises, pressing a hand to the bite to staunch the flow of blood oozing. Hobbling across the fresher and awkwardly stripping out of his pants with one hand, Aestus cranks on the shower, apparently set in his quest of getting clean, Anakin participating or not. The alpha groans as he steps under the spray, the steam of a real water shower quickly fogging the mirror and filling the room.

Anakin watches as the man scrubs at the new wound, and can’t explain the pull he feels inside his chest. It’s like magnetism, like gravity, drawing him closer to Aestus when all he wants to do is run. To take advantage of the alpha’s distraction and take his chances on the streets. But instead he’s caught in Aestus’ orbit, a ship in a gravity well, and he’s helplessly drawn in. He pushes himself to his feet and finds himself closing the distance between himself and this alpha who has bound him. Step by step across the cold tile of the ‘fresher floor, until he stands just at the shower’s edge, warm water pooling around his feet. Soap runs in rivulets down the alpha’s back, following the pattern of raised scars, and Anakin cannot help but reach out and touch.

The muscle beneath his hand twitches, and Anakin meets the Sith’s questioning yellow eyes when he glances over his shoulder to look at him. He isn’t entirely sure what he expression must convey, but Aestus shifts ever so slightly, making room for Anakin under the spray. There’s something dangerous about stepping forward, into the alpha’s space, and allowing the warm water to rinse the grime from his skin. About allowing Aestus to lather his hair, and about the purr that rises unbidden from his throat as he leans back against his alpha’s chest and basks in the warmth of his intoxicating closeness.

This. This is what he imagined of the morning after his first heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft. For now. Don't get comfortable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter! I'm proud of you for making it this far. 
> 
> Obi-Wan's sith title, Aestus, was kindly provided by Icse. It's wonderful, and I love it.
> 
> I usually have more to say in these things, but not today it seems! Hope to see you next time!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Playing with Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368258) by [Glare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare), [Icse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/pseuds/Icse), [Kurenaino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaino/pseuds/Kurenaino)




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